


Apple Strudels

by MrRogers



Category: Free!
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Coffeeshop AU, Firefighter AU, Free! Ending AU, M/M, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-09
Updated: 2014-08-09
Packaged: 2018-02-08 03:41:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1925439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrRogers/pseuds/MrRogers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short, angsty coffee-shop AU that started out as a fic request by none other than tumblr user underthesamestar. Fire station's Trainee Tachibana and chef's apprentice Haru Nanase accidentally bump into each other on the street, and their tumultous relationship ensues. Lots of twists of fate and silly fluff. MakoHaru and Reigisa, with potential Sourin hints (in the later chapters). Hope you enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [underthesamestar.tumblr.com](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=underthesamestar.tumblr.com).



The sound of his roommate slamming the door on his way out to class made Haru roll over in his bed and open one eye lazily. Then the black-haired chef’s apprentice froze, both crystal blue eyes shooting wide open. “My roommate starts classes at nine. I’m already an hour late to work. Shit.” Haru cursed, springing up from his bed and shoving his legs into the black trousers of his work uniform. His shirt was on backwards and not tucked in properly, but Haru was already speed-brushing his teeth, running a hand through his thick, black hair, as there was definitely no time to properly style it.

                 “Oh well,” thought Haruka, smiling nervously to himself as he closed the front door behind him and fumbled through his pockets for the apartment keys, “it’s not like I’m going to meet the love of my life today.” He dashed out onto the street and jogged through the crowds of people, weaving down the streets that separated him from his workplace.

                Just about then Haru realised he may have forgotten his phone at home and rustled through his pockets absentmindedly. At the very moment his hand found the old Samsung, a huge force sent Haru flying to the pavement, dropping the phone in the process.

                 “Oh my - damn, I’m so, so sorry!” a deep, but warm, and overly-apologetic voice rang out in front of him. Haru looked up, his jaw slacked in awe, as a tall, muscular man dressed in fireproof pants and a grey shirt dove for Haru’s Samsung, putting the phone and case back into one piece and handing it over to the chef’s apprentice. What followed was the most beautiful smile Haru had ever seen, with two shimmering, olive-green eyes glancing right down at him.

                 “I think your shirt might be on backwards,” the fireman noticed, politely.

                 “Oh! Ah - yes, so it seems. Thanks - and sorry. Uh, I’m late for work,” Haru mumbled incoherently, blushed, turned around and ran to the bistro.

                His boss was waiting at the counter. “Haruka! You’re late. Get outside. Officer Matsuoka is waiting for his morning coffee.” Haru apologized to his boss, brushed off his uniform, and headed off to the outside tables where a young police officer was reading a newspaper.

                 “Mornin’, Haru!” he said with a smile, and Haru asked, dry-mouthed, “The usual?”

                 “Yep. But get me a glazed donut with it, too,” Officer Matsuoka pointed at the pastry stack inside the bistro.

                 “Of course,” Haru nodded, and headed for the cafe. He then stopped, hesitated, turned around and asked, “Officer, is there a fire station nearby?”

 

* * *

 

 

                 “Tachibana!” the fire brigade chief’s gruff voice made the hazel-haired trainee jump to attention.

                 “Sir!”

                "Listen, Trainee, the boys have gone to help with a park fire in another district, and I just got a call about a cat being stuck in a tree in a back alley near Iwatobi Street. You think you can take care of that yourself?"

                "Sir, yes sir!" the junior firefighter saluted and went over to the garage to fetch a ladder and pocket city map, since he had  just moved there a month ago and could easily get lost, even if he was only headed a few blocks away.

                "Oh, and Tachibana - get me a latte and an apple strudel when you’ll be headed back here," the same gruff voice called out from the chief’s office.

                "Roger that, sir!" he replied over his shoulder, heading out of the fire station carrying an aluminium extension ladder under his right arm. The weather outside was pleasantly warm, but Makoto found himself sweating while carrying the cumbersome equipment under the June sun. Checking his map at every corner, the trainee soon arrived at the scene of the emergency - a sixty-year-old woman was standing in a back alley, talking up a tree to her cat as loudly as it was meowing back down to her, desperate to get down from the trunk it had ascended. "Thank God you’re here, my Donna has been up there for an hour!"

                "No worries, madam, I’m here to help," Makoto smiled and got to work. He secured the ladder against a thick branch and extended it to its full length, just over six metres. Climbing carefully, Trainee Tachibana was soon high enough to grab the frightened cat. Just as he did, though, Makoto nearly lost his balance and fell, as removing the feline revealed a small cafe to his eyes, just on the other side of the back alley, right at the intersection with Iwatobi Street. A raven-black-haired man that the firefighter had definitely met before was busy wiping one of the tabletops with a blue rag.

                " _Is it someone from my hometown_?" the lad wondered, heading back towards the ground step by step. He absently handed over the cat to its owner, the lady unable to hide her relief. Makoto picked the ladder back up, receiving three kisses on each cheek from the cat lady, but his thoughts were elsewhere - in the bistro at the end of the street.

                He remembered his chief’s request for coffee and pie, thought: “It’s fate,” and headed off to the cafe. A bell jingled as he opened the glass door and clumsily dragged the long ladder in through the narrow entrance. Fortunately, there were only four other customers inside, all quietly sipping drinks at their tables, and Makoto didn’t have to worry about hitting anybody’s ankles with the heavy, metal equipment. The raven-haired worker appeared out of a door labelled “STAFF ONLY” soon thereafter and Makoto realised he wasn’t a former classmate - it was that really handsome guy the firefighter accidentally bumped into earlier that day.

                "W-what - I mean, h-hey - what c-can I get you?" the waiter stuttered.

                Makoto replied, equally flustered, “A l-latte and an apple strudel, please.” The bistro worker dropped his gaze, doing a very poor job at concealing the red colour of his cheeks, and Makoto nervously listened to the hiss of the industrial drip brewer, tapping his fingers against the wooden surface.

                "You want that in a cup, or to go?" the waiter asked him, much more composed this time, although he was still flushed - the colour brought out the icy blue of his eyes even more than Trainee Tachibana had remembered it from back when he first saw him.

                "To go," Makoto swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry, "but, uh, how about some cold water on the spot? It gets hot when you’re outside saving kittens," he chuckled.

                "Believe me, behind this coffeemaker, I’m pretty hot, too," the waiter said, his voice sending a shiver down Makoto’s spine.

                 “ _Oh, you sure are pretty hot_ ,” the firefighter thought to himself, wiping the beads of sweat off his forehead into the short sleeve of his grey t-shirt.

                "Water, huh?" the waiter asked with a smirk. He locked eyes with the nervous trainee and added, "You could have _anything_ in this bistro, and you chose water?”

                "W-well," Makoto stammered, but was immediately interrupted by the young guy as he put a chilled bottle of water on the counter, "No, don’t get me wrong. I really like water. So good choice, I guess."

                Makoto drank thirstily, gulping down the cold liquid, and spoke only once the bottle was empty, “Well, ironically, as a firefighter I deal with water more often than I do with fire. And we’ve got mandatory swimming three times a week to stay in shape, not that I mind going to the pool.”

                The waiter finished wrapping the paper coffee cup and apple strudel in a brown bag labelled IWATOBI BISTRO and set it down on the counter. “That’ll be three-fifty. Water’s on the house.”

                "Gee, thanks!" Makoto smiled, genuinely, and handed the exact change to the open palm of his blue-eyed mystery man, their hands brushing against each other for a split-second. "I’d give you a tip, but I only have a bunch of coins in these pockets…"

                "It’s fine. You’ll leave one next time,” the waiter said, looking Trainee Tachibana dead in the eyes, a very shy smile making its way onto his face slowly.

                Makoto blushed, picked the paper bag off the counter, and headed towards the door in embarrassment, “Y-yeah, I owe you.”

                "I’m Haru," the cool voice rang out from behind the counter, and the firefighter could’ve sworn a set of white teeth flashed for a second as the wait dragged them over his lower lip, barely noticeably.

                "O-oh, right! I’m Makoto," the junior firefighter said and turned around, opening the door.

                "Well, Makoto… you left your ladder in my bistro."

                "Jesus! Thanks, thank you so much for reminding me!"

                Haru stepped out from behind the bar and picked up the ladder, securing it under Makoto’s arm, since the firefighter had his hands busy with holding the paper bag. Their hands touched again, briefly, and the beautiful, blue-eyed waiter said, “See you soon,” in the same soft voice that had sent shivers down Trainee Tachibana’s spine earlier on. The firefighter thanked him again, exited the bistro, exhaled loudly, and smiled widely as he walked back to the fire station.

                 “ _See you soon, indeed_ …” he whispered under his breath, dreamily.


	2. Day Two

The skinny, blond beanpole was stuffing his face with peanut butter sandwiches and washing it down with a cup of Earl Grey tea when Haru entered the kitchen in a hurry, his arms outstretched towards the hungry roomie.

                “Woah, woah, easy there, Haru! You wanna strangle me, or somethin’?” Nagisa inched away from his hands and tipped back in his chair, barely catching his balance.

                Haru scoffed, “Tch, I just want you to tell me which scent you think is nicer, okay?”

                “Ohhh,” the aerospace engineering student nodded in understanding, “you should’ve said so straight away!” He closed his eyes with a smile and took a whiff at both of Haru’s wrists, each of them sprayed with a different brand of eau de toilette.

                A few sniffs later, Nagisa pointed to the right wrist, crinkling his nose slightly, and said, “This one is too flowery. You’d smell like a retired florist. I like the other one, it’s sharp and funky.”

                “Thanks,” huffed Haru, and headed over to the kitchen sink to scrub the perfume off his left hand.

                Nagisa returned to eating his sandwiches, but then turned his head in surprise and said, “Wait a second, what’s all this about? You got a date, huh?”

                “What? No!” Haru rejected the suspicion a little too forcefully. “I mean, uh, _no_ , I’m just going to work. Just a regular day. At my regular job.”

                “Alright, man, I’m not gonna delve deeper into the topic,” Nagisa raised both hands apologetically, “I’m just saying, people have called me the dream wingman, so if you ever need help – ” the roommate pointed both of his thumbs at himself and winked, “I’m your man.”

                Haru rolled his eyes and poured himself a cup of tea from the kettle, “I’ll let you know how things develop.”

                “Ah, so there _is_ someone!”

                “Jesus, okay, yes, maybe there is someone! But we literally saw each other twice in our lives, so it’s not like anything is going on, yeah?”

                “ _Haru’s in loooooove_ ,” the blondie mused, swirling his spoon inside the tea mug, fluttering his eyelashes at the chef’s apprentice.

                “And _you_ are acting like a twelve-year-old.”

                Nagisa pouted, touching his own cheek lightly, “It’s not my fault I’ve been graced with this cute, eternally youthful face.”

                “I have no idea how they admitted an idiot like you into the most prestigious aeronautics school in this city… Anyways, I’ve got to head out to work, I was late yesterday,” Haru explained, and patted his roommate on the back affectionately.

                “Oh yeah, I noticed your shoes were still at home when I was going to class yesterday, but I was late myself so I didn’t really have time to wake you up, sorry.”

                “It’s fine,” Haru waved a hand, dismissively, and went to his room to grab his bag. “See you in the evening!”

                “Yup, have a good day at work,” Nagisa called from the kitchen, “and tell me how that date went!”

 

* * *

 

                “Haruka! You’re early today,” the Iwatobi Bistro’s chef twirled his moustache with glee as the apprentice arrived to work on time.

                “Yes, sir – not late, feeling great, and ready to serve plates.”

                The man erupted with laughter and gave Haru’s back a heavy pat. “There’s a batch of croissants just browning over in the oven, I’ll want you to take those out in ten minutes and get them buttered up and ready to go.”

                “What about the coffee bean shipment that was supposed to come in yesterday?”

                “Ah, I got a phone-call from the dried goods deliverers, they’ll come around eleven today. I’ll need you to carry them in, but I’ll operate the grinding machine myself.”

                “Fair enough, sir. I’ll go give the tables outside a wipe before Officer Matsuoka comes in,” Haru offered, picking up a rag and aerosol can of wooden surface cleaner from the supply cabinet.

                “Great initiative, lad. That’s what I like about you!” the chef said, and watched the apprentice go outside to set up and clean the tables.

                As Haru sprayed the aerosol, he could feel his heart skipping a beat just thinking about Makoto the firefighter, and butterflies flipped his stomach upside down when the chef’s apprentice remembered Makoto’s sweaty t-shirt, his dazzling smile, and their hands brushing against each other for that split second yesterday. He winced his icy blue eyes shut and couldn’t help praying that Mr. Dreamy-Green-Eyes wasn’t just being polite and nice when he said he’d visit the bistro again…

 

* * *

 

 

                “God, I’m starving!” a senior firefighter said, passing by Makoto in his towel. The whole crew was exhausted after a long day of evacuating buildings, dragging water hoses, checking electrical installations for short-circuits, and putting the smoke detectors back into order. A fire had broken out after Rei Ryugazaki, a fifth-year student at the Experimental Chemistry faculty of the National Engineering Academy, ‘investigated’ the potential uses of alkali metals in water heaters. Either way, the firefighters handled the situation aptly, and were being released home for the night, the second-shift reserves taking over their jobs. It was one of Trainee Tachibana’s first real emergency calls, aside from saving a cat stuck on a tree and clearing the streets after a summertime hailstorm, so the day’s adrenaline rush left Makoto drained of energy and ready for a long night of sleep.

                “Tachibana!” the fire brigade’s chief called out from his office.

                The junior firefighter dragged himself towards the cubicle and popped his head in through the door which had been left ajar. “Yes, sir?”

                “Good job today. Senior Officer Sasabe told me that you were in the vanguard when you lot were putting out that chemical fire.”

                “Thank you, sir.”

                The chief exhaled, slowly. “I’m glad we recruited you, Trainee Tachibana. Oh – and mind you, where did you buy that apple strudel yesterday? It was _magnificent_!”

                “At the Iwatobi Bistro, sir.”

                “You get a good night’s rest today, Tachibana, because I’m sending you there again tomorrow.”

                Makoto turned around and smiled to himself, “It will be my pleasure, sir.”

 

 


	3. Day Three

Haru entered the kitchen that morning with a blank expression and headed straight for the coffee pot without a word of introduction. Nagisa looked up from his phone and said, “Guess that date didn’t go as planned?”

                The cool, icy eyes shot him a death stare and Haru mumbled, “It wasn’t a date, okay?”

                “Let me guess, he was meant to come by and grab a coffee, but he never showed up?” the aerospace engineering student guessed, sipping some coffee from his favourite, navy blue mug.

                “How did you know it was a he?”

                “Just a feeling I had,” Nagisa shrugged. Haru raised his eyebrows in confusion, but asked no further. Sombrely, he plucked a salt cracker from a box and munched on it, looking out through the window.

                “Aw, come on, gimme a happy-Haru face.”

                The icy blue continued staring out the window in silence.

                “Okay, look – it’s Friday, so I know you’ve got the day off. I don’t have classes until 2 PM. How about we drink a few cold ones, order Chinese food, play Mario Kart and talk about lovers that went wrong.”

                Haru smiled, “Really?”

                “Yeah, why not. Come on, we’ve been roomies for months. I like you!”

                “Okay. But I call Yoshi.” Haru stated, smirking evilly.

                “Asshole,” Nagisa laughed, and the two of them went over to the student’s messy room, sitting down next to each other on the narrow single bed. They set up the vintage Nintendo 64 and raced each other intently, waiting for their beers to chill and the delivery guy to arrive. By the time their food got there, the two had made dozens of laps around Rainbow Road and ended up switching to Mortal Kombat 4, both of them leaning forward towards the television – it’s common knowledge that it increases your skill level. Finally, the doorbell rang, the two split the bill and dug into the delicious contents of the white boxes.

                “I have a feeling that there’s someone you’re not telling me about,” Haru said, eventually, in the middle of a mouthful of stir-fry cellophane noodles.

                “Huh? Why do you think that?” Nagisa said, crunching on a spring roll.

                “Nagisa, for fuck’s sake, there’s a picture of a guy lying on your bedside table,” Haru pointed to a wallet-sized photograph of a tall, lanky-looking guy in red glasses.

                “Wha- oh! Yeah, uh… I don’t know if that’s gonna work out.”

                Haru wasn’t one for gossip, but his blond room-mate wasn’t one for secrets, either, so Haru decided to pressure him into spilling the beans. “Why not?”

                “Well… he goes to university with me, right? Or went. Because yesterday he got suspended. And if he gets expelled from the National Engineering Academy, he’s moving back to his hometown. So I’d never see him again.”

                “You like the bad boys, Nagisa?” Haru joked.

                “Rei is hardly a bad boy. He got suspended because he’s a dumbass and nearly blew up the entire third floor.”

                Haru washed down the noodles with a swig of beer. “Oh, okay. I thought he’s getting expelled for being a drug dealer or something.”

                “God, no,” Nagisa shook his head and laughed bitterly, “you know I like adventure, but there’s limits to that, too. Besides, I get along with Rei so well… He’s my complete opposite, and yet we manage to be exactly the same. You know what I mean?”

                “Well, I don’t really have a lot of experience in dating past the angsty-middle-school-crush level. So I can only imagine,” the apprentice chef shrugged.

                Nagisa detected an opportunity and changed the topic to Haru, “Tell me about that guy you were supposed to meet!”

                “There’s nothing to talk about,” Haru faced away from his roommate and suddenly found the contents of the takeaway box utterly fascinating.

                “Is he nice? Is he hot?”

                “No, he’s a grumpy old man, Nagisa,” Haru retorted sarcastically.

                “You could be into that for all that I know,” the blond beanpole laughed.

                Haru sighed, twirled some noodles around his fork absent-mindedly, and finally said, “Yeah, he’s hot. He’s tall, he’s built like a rock, he has green eyes and a beautiful smile. We bumped into each other on the street by accident, and he almost broke my phone. But he seems like the nicest guy I’ve ever met.”

                “Sounds pretty good,” Nagisa gave a general thumbs-up of approval.

                “Oh, and he’s a firefighter.”

                “DAMN, SON,” Nagisa whooped, “HE’S A KEEPER!”

                Haru laughed softly, “Yeah, he’s amazing.”

                “And was he into you?” the short one inquired. “Because that’s the only real issue to consider here, the way I see things.”

                “Yeah – I mean, yeah, I think so. It seemed that way,” he admitted, “but maybe he was just being nice, you know? He was in a bit of a hurry, but he promised to visit the bistro again, and I was waiting for him all day, and… You get the idea.”

                The aeronautics engineering student let out a loud _hmmmm_ , and said, “Well, only a day has passed, right? Maybe he didn’t want to come off as desperate. Give it a rest, Haru! He’ll come around.”

                The pair of bright blue eyes wandered off to the window and he looked out into the cloudy, June mid-day, “Sure.”

 

* * *

 

 

                Trainee Tachibana had rehearsed a thousand different ways to say hello and strike up a conversation with Haru, the handsome waiter. “Should I apologize for not visiting yesterday? Should I tell him about the fire at the university? Should I tell him I had been thinking of him, or will that sound too weird? Should I tell him about the dream that I – _no, Makoto, definitely do not tell him about that dream_ – or maybe I should just ask him about his day? Fuck. I don’t know.”

                The firefighter was dressed in jeans this time, and his t-shirt wasn’t sweaty, and he had spent ten minutes getting his hair to look somewhat acceptable. And for some reason, despite being more groomed than on any other average day, Makoto Tachibana was about a thousand times more self-conscious of the way he looked. “Maybe I should’ve worn the fire pants? What if he doesn’t recognize me? No, he’ll definitely recognize me. Should I come in a suit? No. No suits. Makoto! God, pull yourself together,” the firefighter mumbled under his breath as he approached Iwatobi Street, the bistro already within his visibility range.

                With a thundering beat in his chest and a thousand butterflies storming around his stomach, Trainee Tachibana opened the bistro door, and said, “Good morning!” in a squeaky, quiet voice. But the man behind the bar was a fifty-year-old, corpulent and stern-looking fellow, who merely arced an eyebrow at Makoto’s awkward entrance, and asked him what he’ll have.

                “Uh, an apple strudel, please. And a latte. To go.”

                The chef bustled around the kitchen, preparing the order for the junior firefighter, and after about two minutes, Makoto was holding a paper bag labelled “IWATOBI BISTRO” in his hands, ready to leave. But the lad hesitated, and finally, in a more composed tone, he asked, “S-Sir, do you know where Haru is?”

                “You mean my apprentice, Haru? The funny-looking blue-eyed one?”

                “Yes, sir.”

                The chef waved a hand dismissively, “Fridays are his day off. You’ll have to come tomorrow.”

                “Thank you, sir,” Trainee Tachibana said, his heart sinking and all the butterflies in his stomach being shot down with some insect-repellent. He bowed his head respectfully, and headed back towards the fire station, feeling overwhelmingly bitter and disappointed.

                


	4. Day Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goodness, this chapter turned into a long one! Hope it will suffice. Enjoy!

Normally, the clanging of a metal ladle against the cast iron pot which contained Iwatobi Bistro’s soup-of-the-day didn’t bother the chef’s apprentice one little bit, but today was different. Today, Haru was beaten before he could even start the fight. His cool, icy eyes were a little swollen and barely open, his skin looked matted and his hair was a mess. But the physical manifestations had nothing on what was happening inside the cook’s body – internal organ failure and severe neurological impairment.

                In other words, Haruka Nanase was hungover.

                He should’ve known that cold booze in the freezer, a day off from work, a lazy roommate, a working Nintendo 64, a bunch of board games, and severe romantic – and sexual – frustration would turn the innocent hang-out into a full-blown, two-man party. Haru didn’t even have time to talk to Nagisa in the morning – in fact, their interaction had been limited to him pulling the blond roommate’s passed-out body out of the bathroom when Haru wanted to take a cold shower before work – so the blue-eyed man was left to his own fuzzy recollection of the past day and night’s events. That, and a splitting headache, as well as no coffee to drink in the morning, because Mr. Aspiring-Future-Astronaut forgot to mention he used it all up during the day.

                “Well,” Haru thought to himself, mixing the soup and trying to limit the amount of noise the ladle was making, “I’m still the winner in this situation. I work next to a huge coffee brewer, while Nagisa will have to trudge down to the apartment building next door to ours, where the vending machine is. And that vending machine sells crap coffee, too.”

                The day passed slowly, especially since it was a Saturday and the bistro had a lot more clients on the weekends, as teenagers came down to hang out and use the free Wi-Fi, families with children came over for the “Weekend Meal Deal” savings offers, and even the odd tourist popped in, seduced by the succulent smell of chef Pierre’s fresh-baked pastries. Haru was serving customers nearly non-stop, until the chef himself looked at the antique cuckoo clock, which chirped its two-o-clock call, and told the apprentice to take his afternoon lunch break.

                He poured himself a complimentary espresso and went into the “STAFF ONLY” section of the bistro, where he bent down to access the employee’s fridge, and pulled out the mackerel, walnut, corn and mayo salad leftovers that he had left there the previous day. The white mixture didn’t look nearly as appetizing as it had when Haru wasn’t painfully hungover, but having no alternative options, the apprentice grabbed the cold dish, closed the old fridge with his leg, and headed out through the back door, the one accessed through the back alley, where the delivery trucks came in with cargo, for example. Haru sat down on the concrete ramp, his legs hanging down from the platform, and dug into his lunch with the plastic spoon he had left in the fridge along with it.

                Optimistically speaking, at least the blistering stomach-ache had passed to some degree, even if Haru’s head was still a pulsing mess. Not that he was expecting miracles, but presumably a strong espresso and some rest taken outside in the cool shade of the five-story brick buildings around him would help a little with that, though. That and the soothing tones of The XX, as Haru pulled out a pair of headphones from his pants’ pocket, untangled them, plugged them into the old Samsung, and chose the song _Angels_.

                He hummed along with the melody regardless of his mouth being full of the last bites of his mackerel salad. A few seconds of this auditory therapy and he could already feel his spirits being lifted a little.  But all of that changed when he suddenly felt someone tapping him on the shoulder, startling him out of his musical reverie so unexpectedly, the chef’s apprentice tipped the hot espresso all over his white shirt.

                “ _Shit!_ ”

 

* * *

 

 

                A bizarre mix of apprehension and excitement put an indescribable pep in Trainee Tachibana’s step as he weaved his way through the busy, Saturday afternoon streets. Nobody in the world was _this_ happy when running errands for their boss – except Makoto happened to be heading to his crush’s workplace to complete said errand. And if only the old chef was right, the black-haired cutie was actually going to be there, unlike the day prior.

                Makoto had his hands in his pockets and he fiddled with his flat’s keys to keep his nervous fingers busy with something and take his mind off the stress ahead of him. Just because it was a warm day, the junior firefighter decided to take the slightly longer path and walk down through the back alley where he had saved Donna the cat a few days ago, accidentally noticing Haru working outside the Iwatobi Bistro at the same time.

                As Trainee Tachibana passed by the tall oak, he couldn’t help looking at the upper branches, chuckling and saying, “Thank you, Donna, for being the ultimate life-ruiner, and making me fall head-over-heels for a guy I’ve seen twice in my life and whose phone I nearly broke.”

                Just at that moment, Makoto looked back down and realized two things: first of all, the gorgeous, blue-eyed bistro worker was sitting outside the café, by the back door, sipping an espresso, and was definitely within hearing range of what the firefighter just said. Second of all – but that came a few gut-wrenching, anxious seconds later – he was fortunately wearing headphones. Makoto exhaled in relief, but then realised yet another fact about the waiter – he was flipping his smart, black loafer shoes to the beat of the song he was listening to, and humming to the music, just quietly enough for Trainee Tachibana to hear.

                “ _He’s not of this world. He’s too cute to be real. I wonder what he’s listening to?_ ” he thought, approaching the waiter slowly, swallowing hard once he noticed how dry his mouth suddenly became. Once the firefighter was standing right next to him, he cleared his throat, politely, but since Makoto could even hear the music from where he was standing, he decided to grab his opportunity to touch that unspeakably attractive body by tapping Haru on the shoulder to get his attention.

 

* * *

 

 

                “Haru, I am _so, so, so, so_ sorry!” Makoto apologized frantically, not knowing what else to do. The raven-black-haired guy looked up at him, his mouth open in surprise, a single headphone dangling out of his left ear. 

                 “M-Makoto! Hi! You startled me…” Haru looked down at his shirt, a big, brown stain spreading all around the white fabric. He stood up and headed for the bistro’s back door. “I – damn, I’m clumsy – look, I’ll be right back, I’ll just go clean this up – ”

                 “Wait, Haru!” Makoto grabbed the waiter’s wrist lightly, preventing him from leaving. “Look, I – uh, I’ve got a spare shirt, okay?” The firefighter let his hand go and pulled a grey t-shirt from the space between his fireproof trousers and the black belt holding them in place, where it had been hanging like a handkerchief. Makoto held the garment up and straightened it out a little, so it wouldn’t be completely wrinkled, and handed it over to Haru. “It’s m-my fault you spilled that coffee, so… Just change into this, okay?”

                Their eyes locked for a second and the chef’s apprentice finally responded with a nod. “If you only knew how much I _don’t_ mind taking this t-shirt, Makoto, you’d be damn surprised,” Haru thought to himself.

                Hyper-aware of his crush’s presence, Haru only started unbuttoning his white work shirt after a moment of hesitation; once the tall firefighter saw this, Makoto gasped and turned his gaze away quickly, staring intently at a nearby lamp-post, suddenly finding it extremely fascinating to look at. The young waiter had unfastened the last button, untucked the shirt from his pants, and removed it, sleeve by sleeve, only to slip Makoto’s t-shirt over his own head and pull the grey fabric down, pushing it into his trousers not to look like a complete idiot.

                Haru sat back down on the concrete loading platform and was instantly overwhelmed by everything – the shirt smelled like Makoto so strongly, and it suddenly felt like the handsome firefighter was all around him, wrapped around his smaller body like a warm, woolly blanket on a winter day. Of course, the t-shirt was a little long and hung off his shoulders slightly, since the future chef’s shoulders were far from being as wide as Makoto’s, despite Haru’s figure being anything but frail. Fortunately, tucking it into the smart, black trousers of his uniform solved most problems, and once Makoto turned back around, he said, reassuringly, “You look great, as if you were meant to be wearing that to begin with.”

                 “ _The most attractive person I’ve met this year just told me that I look great while wearing their clothes_. _Seriously, which lottery did I win?_ ” Haru thought as the handsome firefighter’s concerned expression gradually melted into the regular soul-warming and heart-breaking smile he occasionally graced the world with. After being silently observed by two olive-green eyes for a moment, the deep and warm voice could be heard again as Makoto asked, “Did you have trouble sleeping tonight?”

                 “Hm? Why?”

                 “No – I mean, it sounds rude when I put it this way – but your hair is kinda messy, and you seem tired and on-edge,” the firefighter told him after noticing Haru had been acting a little differently.

                 “Ah… Yeah, I guess you could say I had a rough night. I don’t drink very often, and last night I got completely smashed. So I’ve been punished with an awful headache this morning,” Haru stifled a yawn, pressing a balled-up fist to his mouth.

                “Did you go to a party?”

                 “I don’t like parties that much. And I don’t know many people in the city these days,” he shook his head, “nah, I just spent the day with my roomie, Nagisa.”

                The firefighter was being very inquisitive, and Haru would’ve sworn that the subtlest pang of jealousy could be heard in his friendly voice, “…oh, you share a room?”

                “Oh, God, no. If I had to live inside four walls with that idiot I’d have to be hospitalized after a week. I call him my roomie, but we just split the bills of a two-room flat. He’s a third-year student at the National Engineering Academy. He wants to become an astronaut, actually. But that’s irrelevant. Point is – he ditched class, we drank, we fought, and we made our ancestors proud. Or something like that. I don’t know – I don’t remember anything past 6 PM and I have a feeling we stayed up long past that. When I was getting ready for work in the morning, Nagisa was passed out in our bathroom with his legs up on the toilet seat.”

                Makoto laughed at Haru’s story, secretly relieved. “Sorry for spilling your espresso, then. I bet you need it.”

                “I’ll live,” Haru waved a hand, dismissively, “thanks for the shirt, though. I’ll get that washed up as soon as my break is over,” he pointed to the stained work shirt that he had laid out on the platform to dry.

                “What were you listening to, earlier on, before I scared the living coffee out of you?”

                Haru fumbled for the old Samsung, pulled it out of his pocket, unlocked the screen and showed it to the firefighter.

                “ _Angels_ by The XX,” Makoto read the text displayed by the music player app.

                “You know them?” Haru asked curiously.

                “Sure! I think I even have their song ‘Intro’ on my phone. I really like it.”

                Haru hardly held back his excitement, “No way. They’re one of my favourite bands.”

                “Could I hear the song you were listening to, though?” Makoto asked, and flashed the chef’s apprentice a smile.

                “ _Could I ever say no to that?_ ” Haru thought, and nodded vigorously. He plugged the earphones into the phone and turned the volume up a little bit.

                “May I?” Makoto asked, pointing to a spot on the concrete platform next to Haru. The bistro worker obviously agreed, and the firefighter plopped down right next to him, their shoulders and knees touching, yet neither of them were pulling away. Haru held the left earphone in his hand and pulled it up to Makoto’s ear, but it was covered by soft, messy strands of brown hair. Sucking in a breath, Haru’s moved his other hand to brush away Makoto’s locks and clear a path for the earphone – as he did that, his fingers brushed against the trainee firefighter’s earlobe and caused him to shudder violently, accidentally pushing Haru away.

                “G-God, sorry!” he stammered, turning a little pink. “I get shivers like that sometimes. It’s kind of chilly in this drafty alleyway, even for a June day, isn’t it!?”

                “Yeah,” Haru replied, coolly, and managed to fit the headphone into Makoto’s ear snugly and without interruptions. His thumb hit the play button and both of them were carried away by the electronic sounds of the song’s sweet, calm intro.

                  ** _Light reflects from your shadow, it is more than I thought could exist…_**

Makoto held his breath as he listened to the lyrics, finding his own meaning in them. Haru closed his eyes, getting lost in the music, but the firefighter kept his wide open, using the advantage of his height to look down at Haru’s smooth-skinned, pale face, able to admire its beauty from such close proximity for the very first time.

                **_You move through the room, like breathing was easy,_**

                **_If someone believed me, they would be as in love with you as I am…_**

                Haru opened up his cool, blue eyes and decided to surreptitiously peek at Trainee Tachibana’s expression, silently hoping that he was enjoying the song. He didn’t expect to catch the firefighter gazing at him with watery, olive-green eyes, so they both looked away from each other, flustered.

                 “You wanna listen to the whole thing?” Haru turned his head back towards Makoto and asked, quietly.

                 “Yeah,” his crush whispered back with a smile, “I love it…”

                **_And everyday I am learning about you, the things that no one else sees._**

                **_And the end comes too soon, like dreaming of angels…_**

                A door opened behind them. “Haruka!” a stern voice called out, surprising them both equally, and making Trainee Tachibana jump up to attention, as months of drill exercises had taught him to do. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. It is 2:35, though, and it’s time for you to get back inside.”

                Haru scrambled back up and apologized, “Of course, boss. I’m sorry, I lost track of time.”

                Chef Pierre remained in the doorway, twirling his moustache while examining the junior firefighter; he winced at him, cocked his head to the side, and said, “Oi, aren’t you that one blabbering fool that asked me where Haruka was yesterday?”

                 “N-no – I mean, yes, sir!”

                Haru froze in the middle of picking up the mackerel salad plate and empty espresso cup. “You were here yesterday?”

                 “Uhhh,” Makoto was seriously blushing now, his right hand instinctively shooting up to his chin in an attempt to hide at least part of the raging red storm on his cheeks, “y-yeah, I mean… I promised I’d come again, settle my debts by paying you that tip I owe you, and – ”

                Haru interrupted, “No, no, goodness, don’t explain yourself! I’m just really sorry that I didn’t tell you that Fridays are my day off.”

                 “It’s fine, seriously,” Makoto said, quietly, and then added, “I still have to buy something, actually. Can I come in through here?”

                Chef Pierre piped up, pointing to a rusty metal sign, “Can’t you read, son? It says ‘STAFF ONLY’ right here.”

                 “Boss,” Haru sighed, “he’s my… best friend, okay? He can come through here.”

                The chef rolled his eyes, huffed, but held the door open for both of them. Makoto wasn’t quite sure what to be more amazed by – what Haru had just said, or what his eyes were now seeing: the bistro’s behind-the-scenes areas were completely new and utterly fascinating to him – the shelves of produce, fresh and canned, industrial-size freezers and cookers, pots and pans of every size, dishwashers big enough for the firefighter to fit into, and bottles and cans of every kind of beverage imaginable.

                 “It’s amazing,” he whispered to Haru, who was walking right in front of him, “I’ve never seen a restaurant’s kitchen from this perspective.”

                Chef Pierre murmured, nosily, “It’s a bistro, not a restaurant, son.”

                They emerged out through to the bar, and Makoto marvelled even further at all the shapes and sizes of cups, mugs, brands of coffee and tea, and everything which was hidden from the sight of an ordinary customer just on the other side of the counter. Haru showed him the where to exit back onto the customer’s side and Makoto’s head soon popped up above the huge coffee brewer.

                With a quiet laugh, Haru asked, in a mock-serious voice, “And what will you have today, sir?”

                 “An apple strudel and a latte, to go, sir.” Makoto said in a professional tone, as if the two of them had just met. The chef’s apprentice began preparing the order, and the firefighter leaned over the counter to watch him operate the machinery with genuine interest.

                 “I’ll be gone tomorrow,” Makoto said in his regular, friendly voice, “I’ll be visiting my hometown during the day and coming back late in the evening.”

                Haru stuck out his tongue unwillingly as he focused on pouring freshly-ground, aromatic black powder into the funnel on top of the industrial coffee maker. “That’s alright, we close early on Sundays anyways.” After flipping the ‘LATTE’ switch on the machinery, Haru’s head snapped up and he asked, “Wait – did you just say you’re not from here?”

                 “That’s right,” Trainee Tachibana nodded, “I only moved here a month ago. Before that, I lived in a small mining town in the mountains, and that’s where I got my fireman’s license, straight after high school.”

                 “Oh,” Haru whispered, imagining Makoto trekking up a picturesque, autumn valley, with colourful leaves scattered everywhere. He dismissed the reverie and said, very quietly, “It sounds beautiful. I’d love to go someday.”

                 “I’d love to take you someday,” Makoto replied with that heart-breaking smile of his, and Haru had to dive around to the pastry oven to hide his blushing, red face. His lips twitched upwards into a smile he couldn’t stop, and he waited for his face to return back to normal before picking out an apple strudel from the pile of baked goods and turning back to face Makoto. The chef’s apprentice stuck a plastic cap onto the paper coffee cup, packed it into a paper IWATOBI BISTRO bag, alongside the strudel, and handed it over to the eager firefighter.

                Haru returned right back to the mock-serious business tone, deepened his voice, and said, “That will be three-fifty, sir.”

                Makoto stifled a chuckle, pulled out a green banknote and handed it to Haru. In a fake, gruff voice, he said “Well, here’s a ten,” then leaned in close to Haru, his face just a few inches away, and said, in his regular, lovely voice, “for that smile earlier on. See you, Haru.”

                Haru’s face went right back to a crispy, crimson colour and Makoto just turned around on his heel and walked out of the bistro. The chef’s apprentice stood there for a few seconds, dumbstruck, watching the firefighter disappear onto the street through the large windows, and then slowly opened the cash register, depositing the banknote and pulling out the change from his tip. Haru exhaled loudly and involuntarily touched his own chest, his hand rolling over the smooth cotton of Makoto’s t-shirt.

                Chef Pierre appeared out of the kitchen with two shot glasses in his hands, and handed one of them over in Haru’s direction. “You _like_ that firefighter, don’t you?”

                 “W-what? Boss! What’s all this?” the apprentice nearly jumped.

                 “It’s a Bloody Mary, Haruka. It’s a good hangover headache cure.”

                 “That’s not what I meant…” he said, taking the shot glass from his boss’s hand.

                 “I’m just calling it how I see it. Drink up, son. To love!” the chef toasted, downed his glass, and went back to simmering lobster meat in a cream cheese and onion sauce.

                Haru poured the drink into his mouth, cringed at the taste, put the glass right into the sink in front of him, and waited for a customer to approach him.

                 “ _I can’t say you’re wrong, boss. I can’t say you’re wrong_ ,” he thought to himself, looking out onto the busy, afternoon streets. 


	5. Day Five

“ _I told you so, I told you so_ ,” Nagisa chanted as he skipped circles around Haru, hands folded over his chest, theatrically, as the chef’s apprentice stood in the middle of their kitchen stoically, drinking a cup of  green tea.

                 “Why are you acting like this,” Haru grumbled in between sips, trying his best to avoid eye contact with his hyperactive baby roommate.

                 “Because you thought the cute guy was just being nice to you, and there he was, waiting at the Bistro for you, even though it was your day off!” Nagisa stopped skipping and sighed dreamily, then added, “Love is all around us, Haruka.”

                The cup of green tea froze half-way to his lips as Haru was hit with a sudden realisation, “Hey – you aren’t this happy just because of Makoto visiting me… something else happened…?”

                 “Whaaat?” Nagisa feigned innocence, suddenly stopping hopping around the tiled floor of their shared kitchen. “No, no, I’m just happy you’re happy, buddy!”

                The chef’s apprentice squinted, completely unconvinced, studied Nagisa’s flushed face for a few moments, and then began guessing, “It has something to do with – Rei, was it?”

                 “Well,” the aerospace engineering student was a terrible liar, and it showed, “I’m not saying yes, but I’m not saying no, either…”

                 “So it does,” Haru rubbed his chin pensively. “Was his suspension revoked?”

                There was a short pause, but the roommate cracked soon, and in one breath, said, “Fine. Yes. Rei’s case was reviewed by the campus tribunal, he ended up defending himself in the name of science and progress, and they decided his grades are too good to get rid of him. So everything’s good. Well – his scholarship for this month got cancelled as minimal punishment, and the money will be used to pay for the damage to the building.”

                Haru brought the cup of green tea back to his lips as they twitched upwards in a barely detectable smile. He finished the drink, set the cup on the counter, and gave Nagisa what was perhaps the most affectionate pat on the back the university student had ever received.

                 “I’m happy for you. I know neither of us really remember much of what happened on Friday, but I sure recall all your rants about Rei. _Oh, he’s so caring_ and _oh, he’s so lovely,_ and _I hope you find someone who completes you the way that dork completes me_.”

                 “I said that?” Nagisa asked, slapping his face with an open palm in a gesture of utter exasperation with himself.

                 “Yeah,” Haru scoffed, “but it was kinda sweet. I guess. The only thing I’m wondering is why I’ve never gotten to meet him yet?”

                 “Rei’s a little bit shy until he really opens up around you. Besides, he has a suite dorm, so we usually just go to his place. Otherwise you would’ve seen him hanging out at our apartment long ago. I just – wow, I never thought you’d want to meet him, Haru! We should go on a double date someday! Maybe next week?”

                 “Huh!?”

                Nagisa’s eyes shone bright at the sheer idea, “Yeah, yeah, it’s a perfect plan! You should take the sexy firefighter and we’ll go out somewhere, just the four of us!”

                 “But you and Rei have been dating for ages – even if you never told me about it – and I only know Makoto for a couple of days,” Haru shook his head, the idea making him feel extremely anxious.

                “Precisely! You would get a chance to get to know Makoto a little bit better, as well as meeting Rei! And I would get a chance to play the good old matchmaking game,” he chuckled, rubbing his hands together, an evil grin on his face.

                “What? No! You are not playing matchmaker with me and Makoto. Understood?”

                Nagisa groaned, “Why do you have to be such a buzz kill, man?”

                “No matchmaking, or you can say goodbye to the double date idea.”

                Haru’s roomie let out an excessively long sigh, and in an overly-dramatic voice, he said, “Why must you hurt me in this way, you cruel monster? Fine… I suppose I’ll have to make do without the fun of setting you up with your dream man…”

                Haru rolled his eyes, knowing there was no winning with his roomie. If he wanted to try and speed up Makoto and Haru’s courtship, he was probably going to do it anyways, regardless of any promises he’d make. To be completely honest, it wasn’t as if the idea of going out somewhere with Makoto was bad – and meeting Nagisa’s significant other would certainly be a high watermark of Haru’s year – but the word ‘date’ made his stomach churn. It was definitely too early to even be thinking about going on a date of any sort with the firefighter, wasn’t it? The fact that Haruka Nanase found himself infatuated with the olive-eyed guy and wanted to get to know him better didn’t instantly mean he wanted to go on a date... And Nagisa would probably scare him away. On the other hand, being around the stupid blond roomie and his boyfriend could hypothetically make it a more enjoyable experience for everyone. Regardless of his final decision, Haru decided to go to his room and leave the future astronaut to his own excitement and bubbly mood, but not before being intercepted by one more remark from the younger fellow.

                “That new shirt is nice, by the way, although it’s a bit big on you, isn’t it?”

                Haru froze, mid-way into his room, and touched the grey fabric tenderly, “Yeah, a little. But I love it.”

 

* * *

               

                Like any other day of the week when Haru didn’t work, that Sunday passed by far too quickly. It was dinner time even before the chef’s apprentice had time to accomplish anything – of course, lying around in bed, reading books and watching a few episodes of Haru’s favourite TV shows couldn’t be considered ‘doing nothing’, but time still flew by much too quickly. The bistro worker decided to treat his roommate and himself to portions of chicken cordon bleu with rice and autumn salad for dinner, and preparing said meal took another large chuck of time out of his day, and after the two of them finished eating he got ready to go partake in his favourite hobby – swimming.

                The pool was only a few streets away from Haru’s apartment – the basement of a very average-looking apartment building from the 1980s concealed one of the few Olympic-length swimming pools in the district. Very few people except the building’s tenants actually knew of the pool’s existence, which meant there were times during the week when Haru had the entire body of water to himself. 9 PM on a Sunday meant most people were at home, relaxing and trying to get some energy for Monday morning, rather than paddling through a pool.

                Haru had loved swimming ever since he could remember – when he was a toddler, bath time was his favourite time of the day; when he had not yet mastered the skill of swimming, the small, raven black-haired boy would splash around with inflatable arm-bands; but ever since Haruka Nanase grasped the basics of staying afloat, there was no dragging him out of the water. Because of problems at home, which eventually culminated with his parents’ divorce, the boy often changed schools and moved, and grew to love the one element which always welcomed him, completely unchanged – water. Peace of mind was only a breath away – the child would fill up his lungs with air, submerge his body under the unbroken surface of the water, and immerse himself in a silent world, where the storm inside the lad’s mind was eased by the cool liquid, all thoughts drowned out by the echoes of bubbles floating up to the surface with each of Haruka’s exhales.

                Even now, as a twenty-year-old, Haru felt most at peace when he was in the water, or near it, at the very least. Living in a coastal city was the optimal solution for him, and Haru often visited the beach on rainy or cloudy days, when the sandy shores weren’t crowded with people. It was both due to the fact that he was a jealous lover and liked having all the water to himself, but also due to Haru’s childhood relationship with the element, where swimming was always a cleansing, solitary experience.

                Even the trip to the apartment building with an old, red Nike gym bag in his hand was part of the spiritual experience. Upon breaching the revolving, glass door Haru nodded a silent greeting to the security guard at the reception, who tipped his black baseball cap in response, and continued staring blankly at two security camera feeds from the comfort of a big, leather office chair. The young man chose the stairs over the vintage elevator and ascended into the basement, where a youthful part-time worker who never smiled sat at a desk, nothing but a clipboard, old CRT computer screen and plastic basket full of locker keys in front of her.

                Seeing Haru made her look up from the computer screen and sigh. “Good evening, sir. Do you have a swim card or are you a first time – ”

                She was interrupted by the sound of the chef’s apprentice putting his swim card on the desk, the laminated paper shuffling against the fake wood. She read the number on the card, whispered it out loud to herself, typed it into the computer, logged an hour of swimming under the name ‘Nanase, Haruka’, and handed him a locker key.

                “Have fun,” she said, utterly emotionless, and returned to playing Spider Solitaire.

                Haru could already smell chlorine as he entered the male changing room – its walls were yellowed with time and blue enamel paint  was peeling off the metal lockers in some places. He was already wearing his swimsuit underneath his trousers, so after a quick strip he was ready to go and hit the showers. The heating was only on in the winter, which made the shower room the most unpleasant place to be in the entire swimming pool complex – Haru shivered a little bit as he walked under a shower head in his flip-flops and turned the heat controls to the maximum. The lukewarm stream of water helped a little, and soon thereafter he forced his head into a swimming cap, fastened on his goggles, and went out the door and into the pool room.

                A single lifeguard wearing a red jumpsuit was sitting on a plastic garden chair, reading Vogue. She jumped a little as she heard the door open, not expecting any visitors this late on a Sunday.

                “Hi, Haru!” she smiled at him.

                “Hello, Tatiana,” he replied. The tall blond was an exchange student from Germany, and she worked the evening shift, meaning she was usually the one working when Haru came for his evening swim. Not losing any more time, Haru slipped off his flip flops, hopped onto the diving platform, and hopped right into the water, his body sliding into the water at a perfect angle.  

                Time went by quickly as the young man alternated between doing laps of freestyle and just floating around on his back. The digital clock made up of a few dozen red LED lights informed him that he had 12 minutes left to return his key to the lady at the desk, so he reluctantly climbed up the pool ladder, said goodbye to Tatiana and while still dripping wet, he quickly braved the cold shower room to reach his locker, grab shampoo and a towel, and wash the chlorine off his body. Since there wasn’t a single soul around, Haru slipped off his skin-tight swim trunks and showered naked. Once he was finished, he patted himself dry and then wrapped a towel around his hips, grabbed the bottle of shampoo and headed over to the changing room to put his clothes back on. But a completely unexpected obstacle was standing in his way: Makoto the firefighter standing next to an open locker, shirtless, unzipping the fly of his jeans.

 

 

* * *

 

 

                “H-Haru!?” Makoto exclaimed, and stopped dead in his tracks, seeing his crush without a top on causing him to accidentally let go of his jeans and watch helplessly as they fell straight to his ankles, revealing his boxer briefs with faces of Marvel superheroes printed on them.

                “…Makoto? You swim here?”

                He was literally unable to pry his olive eyes from the chest of the waiter. Obviously, Makoto’s mind made some assumptions as to what was underneath the white shirt of his bistro uniform, but what he saw before him exceeded even his own wildest expectations. The body was muscular, but Haru’s build was lean, meaning the guy looked chiselled and fit, but not big and bulky.

                 “ _I… I think he’s my type. Even his body. Oh God. And look at those water droplets trickling down his neck, his collarbones, his chest, and further down the treasure trail towards his – SHIT, Tachibana, control your damn self! Definitely_ _do not look_ there, _I think you’re forgetting that you’re wearing nothing but your boxers,_ ” the trainee fireman thought to himself, a real internal battle playing out within him.

                He took a deep breath, hoping it would drain at least some of the bright red colour from his cheeks, and said, “Yeah, I, uh, this is the place our captain takes us for our mandatory swim class. We get a group discount, and there aren’t many people here, so I really liked it.”

                 “Scratch the ‘group discount’ and that’s precisely why I come here,” Haru agreed, trying his hardest not to stare at any of the skin Makoto was showing, and failing miserably. After a short pause, he added, desperately trying to break the tense silence, “How was your day at home?”

                 “Oh, it was great – I mean, the usual, really. I didn’t have much time so I spent all of it at home, with my family. I’ve got a baby brother and sister and they miss me a lot. It’s kind of nice to see someone as excited to see you as they always are about getting to hang out with me,” Makoto laughed his heart-warming chuckle, and pulled his swimming trunks out of the backpack he had brought with him. With the garment in his hand, he explained, “The train I took just got back in town an hour ago, I thought the pool might still be open, and I decided to pay it a visit.”

                “It’s kind of an obscure place, I never thought I’d find you here.”

                “Yeah, I’m a stranger to this town, but most of the other firemen aren’t. Some of them don’t even need to use a GPS when we’re driving the firetruck to the scene of emergency! They literally know all the street names by heart. It’s crazy!”

                Haru ran a hand through his wet hair, tussling it in all directions to knock some of the moisture out of the thick, black mane. “Takes a little practice.”

                Makoto locked eyes with him and had to blink several times to pull himself out of the icy blue pools, which is when he said, “Hey, don’t you have a timer running out?”

                “Ah, shit! Yes, I do,” Haru said and opened his locker with the small key. He pulled out the gym bag and headed for one of the two changing stalls. Makoto headed over to the one right next to his.

                The tall firefighter heard the sound of a wet towel dropping to the floor, and realized there was but a sheet of plywood separating him from the fully-naked chef’s apprentice. To take his mind off the man’s body, Makoto made an offering, “Since now we know that we both go swimming here, we could go together someday?”

                In the other stall, Haru smiled widely, hidden from everyone’s eyes and not hiding his excitement for once. “That sounds great. It could even be next weekend.”

                “Ah, I usually spend weekends in my hometown, Haru. But any day of the week is fine. Maybe Friday, since you have a day off?”

                “Sounds good to me,” Haru said, buttoning up the plain, azure, long-sleeved shirt he had come to the swimming pool in.

                Makoto exited the stall in his swimsuit and put away his boxers into the backpack, then locking it away with his locker key. He sat on the wooden bench in the middle of the changing room, waiting for Haru to emerge.

                The young waiter was out soon, fully-clothed, his shirt neatly tucked into a pair of light brown chinos. Makoto’s jaw dropped for a few seconds, as he was in total disbelief as to how the guy was capable of looking amazing regardless of what he did – or didn’t – wear. The fireman then said, while watching Haru pack his wet things into a plastic bag which he later tossed into the big, red Nike gym bag, “You know, I’m really tired after all the travelling today, but maybe tomorrow you’d like to come over to my apartment? I’m just warning you, it’s messy in there.”

                Haru nodded, secretly in disbelief, “Y-yeah, sure?”

                Makoto stammered out an explanation: “It’s nothing serious or obligatory, I just… I guess I just wanted to get to know you a little bit. I mean, I don’t know anybody in this city outside of my firefighting team, and you seem pretty cool, so you could just pop by, we could watch a movie, play some video games, dance, eat – whatever you’re into, really,” he followed up with a chuckle.

                “Of course. Sounds good to me.”

                “What time do you finish your shift tomorrow?”

                “6 PM,” Haru said, after a moment of hesitation when he searched his mind for his work timetable.

                “Alright – I’ll be waiting for you at six, then. Well, mind you, there’s a chance we’ll see each other sooner, if only my boss is craving some apple strudels.”

                Haru breathed out through his nose, emitting somewhat of a minimal laugh, and then smiled faintly. He excused himself, shook hands with the half-naked firefighter, and headed for the front desk. He turned the key in with a little too much enthusiasm in his motions, causing the lethargic part-time worker to shoot him a pitiful look.

                “I don’t even wanna know what you two were doing in there,” she stared Haru down from head to toes judgementally, and then added, “that will be five-twenty for the fifteen minutes of overtime.”

                “ _Fifteen minutes?! No way,_ ” he thought. But without another word, Haruka Nanase paid his fine to the lady, wished her a good night, and left the apartment building with the ghost of a smile on his lips, his mind already counting down the minutes to 6 PM of the following day.

                “ _Wait ‘til Nagisa hears about this stuff._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you sooo much everybody for every single comment and every single kudo you've left on this fanfiction! It's lovely knowing that you guys enjoyed it :)


	6. Day Six

                If Haru thought his day at work passed by excruciatingly slowly last Saturday when he was heavily hungover, he had no idea what was happening to the flow of time now. Sure, nobody in the world likes Mondays, but Haru actually went to work every Sunday, so it wasn’t like he started the 7-day cycle with being snapped out of a blissful weekend. Of course the chef-in-training was fully, and very painfully aware of the sole cause for the old cuckoo clock’s hands to be lagging so profoundly – like a small child on a long road trip, Haruka Nanase was counting the minutes until he got to his destination, which in this case meant Makoto.

                “ _Well, technically the destination will be coming to me, not the other way around_ ,” the young man thought to himself while helping his boss unload the industrial-sized dishwasher at the back of the bistro.

                His day dragged on, customer after customer, printed receipt after receipt, meal after meal. The lunch break – usually Haru’s favourite, calmest and most pleasant part of the day – now seemed like an unnecessary addition. He would’ve preferred to get out of work half an hour early than sit there in the cool back alley, fidgeting with his hands nervously, and listening to upbeat music while jiggling his leg. 

                After about half of Haru’s break had passed, Chef Pierre stepped out on the concrete platform with his arms crossed. The chef’s apprentice plucked his headphones off his ears and looked up at his boss in anticipation.

                “What is it, son? You’ve been so tense all day. Has something happened?” there was a hint of compassion in the Chef’s otherwise stern and gruff voice.

                “Not really, boss,” Haru answered, surprised that the old man had noticed.

                “Well, it’s your break, so I won’t be bothering you, Haruka. But help yourself to one of these,” he said, reaching a hand into the pocket of his black trousers and tossing his apprentice a pack of Lucky Strike cigarettes before walking back into the bistro, on his way to serve customers.

                Haru slipped the headphones back on and flipped the white-and-blue cardboard box in his hands. He had smoked quite a lot during his youth – oh, had that been the worst thing he had done – in his rebellious years, when he tried to do everything to spite his parents. He had outgrown the habits by the time he graduated, but a familiar hunger appeared as soon as he saw the pack in his hands. With a lot of hesitation, Haru finally opened the flap and first removed the chef’s lighter, only to then pull out a single cigarette, place it in between his lips and light it.

                As if in response, the music player on his phone shuffled to the song “Chelsea Dagger” by The Fratellis, and Haru couldn’t help but smirk. The fleeting smile was washed off his face a split-second later, however, as his lungs were hit by the first drag of smoke and Haru let out a retching cough.

                “ _Shit_!” he cursed under his breath. “ _It really has been a while since the last time I had one_.”

                A few drags later, Haruka Nanase was feeling a definite nicotine high; his head felt light, the world looked a little fuzzy, and his heart was beating faster. By the time he was holding little more than a butt between his fingers, the tension that had been wearing him down felt a lot more distant. Throwing the filter’s remains into the ashtray Chef Pierre kept by the back door, Haru picked himself up off the concrete, gathered the plastic box his lunch sandwich had been packed in, and headed back inside. After putting the Tupperware in the tote back he carried to work, and tying his white work-apron around his hips, he retrieved the pack of Lucky Strikes out of his pocket, set it down on the counter in front of the Chef, and said, “Thanks, boss.”

                The old man twirled his moustache, inspected Haru’s face, let out a pleased grunt, and mumbled, “I knew it would work,” to himself.

                Time seemed to return back to its normal pace now that the nicotine rush helped Haru lift Makoto off his mind and focus on his work. The young man turned the music volume in the whole bistro up a little bit, and served soups, meals and coffees to the beat of whatever was on. When the light outside took on a slightly orange tinge and Haru felt the end of his shift approaching, Chef Pierre walked over to the docked iPod that they streamed their music from and fumbled with the controls, accidentally pausing the music, startling everyone inside the Bistro, including Haru. A few seconds later, the sound of trumpets cut through the silence, and the song “4 Minutes” by Madonna began playing. Haru turned around to face the old man in confusion, and the Chef laughed at his raised eyebrows.

                In synchronisation with the song, he said, “You’re out of time, and all you’ve got is four minutes!”

                Haru looked up at the old cuckoo clock and noticed that it was 5:56 indeed; he finished drying the batch of mugs he had been wiping with a cloth, hastily shook his boss’s hand, disappeared in the back of the bistro, hung his apron on a hook, picked up his tote bag, and by the time he returned to the front, there was a tall guy with messy, medium-length brown hair standing right outside the door to the Iwatobi Bistro, hands in his pockets, looking off into the distance broodingly.

                “I knew _he_ had something to do with how you were today,” Chef Pierre sighed and threw up his hands in mock exasperation.

                Haru muttered an apology, said ‘goodbye’ to his boss, and went out through the flap in the wooden counter, his heart doing somersaults in his chest. As soon as he began strolling towards the door, Makoto turned around towards the glass door, having noticed someone moving with the corner of his olive-green eyes – and it was a sight Haru couldn’t ever forget, even if he tried. The sun shone down brightly onto the messy mop atop Makoto’s head; upon seeing Haru, his cheeks turned pink, his eyelids dropped slowly, and his full lips stretched into the most genuine, heart-warming smile in the history of the world. Well – Haru’s world, at the very least.

                Haru had only previously seen the firefighter in his uniform, or with practically no clothes on at all, and seeing him dressed casually caught the young man off-guard, somehow. Makoto was wearing maroon, cotton shorts with a black Joy Division band hoodie, with the logo of the _Unknown Pleasures_ album on his chest. It was as if Karma was paying the chef’s apprentice back for all the negative things that had happened throughout his life.

                “Haru!” the fireman called the name with true excitement as soon as the waiter stepped out of the Bistro. Makoto instantly reached out to give him an energetic handshake, and then laid his other hand on the right shoulder of Haru’s work shirt. “I’ve been looking forward to seeing you today.”

                “Oh, yeah?” Haru asked, feigning indifference to hearing this. “ _It’s not like I’ve been waiting for you all day,_ ” he added in his thoughts.

                “Sure. I was working the morning shift today, but we were pretty busy with cleaning one of our fire-trucks, so I stayed a little late. Fortunately I had a spare change of clothes, otherwise I’d be showing up here in my dirty firefighting uniform,” he chuckled nervously.

                “ _Yeah, like I’d mind that, you dumbass,_ ” Haru thought. His blue eyes locked with Makoto’s and the future chef asked, “So, where to?”

                “We’ll just walk to my place from here, if that’s okay. It really isn’t far from here,” he nodded at Iwatobi Street reassuringly.  

                “Alright,” Haru agreed, and then, with the tiniest of smirks, he asked, while cocking his eyebrow, “but are you sure we won’t get lost?”

                “Wow, thanks for having faith in me, Haru,” the fireman said, bitterly.

                The waiter’s daring expression softened immediately, his icy blue eyes shooting right up at Makoto’s face, black eyebrows creasing up in worry. He stuttered, “I-It’s not like that, I do!”

                Makoto laughed heartily, “I was _joking_! But in all seriousness – I almost always carry a pocket city map with me, so we’d find our way even if I suddenly suffered memory loss for some reason.”

                ” _He carries around a pocket city map. Is it possible for him to get any more adorable?_ ” Haru wondered in silence, observing Makoto’s facial expressions as the firefighter told him about his day, giving him details of how they were called down to the docks because a ship had torn down a few electrical lines with its tall chimneys. After no more than ten minutes of talking and strolling, the two of them arrived at the spot: a very old, narrow, brick building, about five stories high, with a liquor store on the opposite side of the road from it and a homeless man sleeping on a cardboard bed in the lobby, just past the front door.

                “I buzz him in sometimes,” Makoto explained quietly as they walked through the musky-smelling ground floor, past the snoring tramp, and towards the staircase, “the nights can get cold, even in the summertime, and he doesn’t do anyone any harm here.”

                As they ascended the wide, faux-marble staircase, Trainee Tachibana explained to Haru that the building was government-owned, and his fire brigade had received one full floor of the building to use as housing for the firefighters. The four, small studios were used as dormitories for the younger, bachelor firemen – especially for those that came from outside of the city. The rent was horribly cheap, and the bill discounts Makoto got as a fire brigade employee where what allowed him to afford housing in the big city in the first place – otherwise his family wouldn’t have been able to provide for it. They stopped on the third floor, approached a battered, sprucewood door that was furthest on the left, and Trainee Tachibana pulled out his apartment keys. Soon, a rusty lock popped open and let the two of them shuffled into what was Makoto’s home.

                The firefighter began giving Haru a miniature tour. The place smelled a little dusty, but the scent of the studio wasn’t exactly what Haru would call its worst aspect – especially since there was a hint of Makoto permeating the air, and it’s not like the chef’s apprentice was going to complain about that. The walls weren’t in what one could call a good shape - the ceiling was cracked to the point a trail of powdered plaster was gradually seeping from one particularly large hole at all times. Wallpaper was either absent or peeling off from the walls, creating an ugly mosaic of canary-yellow from the ancient, dried glue on the walls, and the faded, once-emerald wallpaper strips hanging around. All of Makoto’s belongings were either crammed into an rickety, plywood wardrobe or still lying on the floor in suitcases; the fireman’s bed appeared to be a very used, navy blue sofa; the entertainment system was a laptop set up on an odd-looking stool and two book-sized speakers on either side of the stool. But what Haru was most concerned by was the kitchen.

                “Does this thing even work?” the chef’s apprentice asked with a concerned look on his face as he tentatively touched the big, lead Philco fridge with the tip of his shoe, as if it were a dormant dragon.

                “Sort of,” Trainee Tachibana replied, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

                “Sort of?! Makoto, you could get food poisoning, salmonella – I could give you a whole list of digestive diseases that you _really_ don’t want to be getting, because their symptoms are nasty as hell.”

                “Well, you know, I was thinking of renovating this place, actually. Since this is fire brigade property, and my chief is really cool, I bet I could even do it during work hours. This place really needs some new plastering and painting to begin with – and then maybe some new furniture.”

                Haru dropped his eyes, feeling intrusive, but spoke up anyways, “I… I could come over and help you, if you like.”

                “Y-you’d do that? Wow! Thank you…” Makoto smiled, a considerable amount of surprise in his voice.

                “Of course.”

                “I – that’s really kind of you. We barely know each other…” Makoto trailed off while gazing down at the beautiful, blue-eyed cook who was turning out to be an even better person than the firefighter ever expected. “Well – anyways. You could definitely help me with furniture shopping, because I have no idea where to buy some nice second-hand appliances, and maybe a couple of new chairs from an IKEA or something.”

                “I’d show you all the best places. I’ve moved so many times in my life, I kind of have some experience with that sort of thing.”

                “Perfect,” the brown-haired one said with glee. He then walked over to the kitchen area and added, “Hey, Haru, aren’t you a little hungry?”

                “Sure, I haven’t really had dinner yet.”

                “Well…” he searched through his pantry cupboard with resignation, “I guess we could order something, but it will take a while for our food to get here at this hour of day.”

                Haru waved a hand, dismissing the idea. “Do you mind if I make myself at home in your kitchen?”

                “Not at all,” Makoto said, and stepped aside as the chef’s apprentice entered his natural habitat, bustling through all the drawers, shelves and cupboards. Soon, the young man had amassed a pile of ingredients on one of the counter-tops: a pack of sliced bacon (which he sniffed at thoroughly to ensure there weren’t any bacteria developing on it yet – Makoto’s refrigerator was definitely not to be trusted), a pound of spaghetti pasta, four large eggs, a clove of garlic that had dried at least a year ago, and a block of cheese (which the future chef also inspected thoroughly for mould).

                Not even a minute later there was water being boiled in a large saucepan and Haru simply declared, “I’m making dinner for you. Well, for us.”

                “I – okay, I won’t bother the chef while he’s at work. Unless you’d like some help?”

                “Just give me your biggest, sharpest knife,” the cook replied coolly, sending a shiver down Makoto’s spine. The fireman brought the big chopping knife that he had brought over from his hometown to Haru, and decided to observe him from afar. Makoto had never seen a professional cook chop something in real life, and it looked even more impressive now than it did on television. Within a minute’s worth of time the bistro’s brightest employee had diced all the bacon, chopped up all the garlic, grated the block of cheese and cracked all four eggs into a bowl, stirring them out into a yellow goop. All of this was done with such precision and expertise, Makoto could barely pry his curious eyes away.

                He crouched down by his laptop and turned the machine on. “Hey, do you watch any TV shows?”  

                “Lots, actually,” Haru said while pouring oil onto a frying pan he found in one of the cupboards.

                “I was just asking because I missed the Game of Thrones season finale yesterday because I was travelling and then I went straight to the pool once I got back to the city. And after swimming I was so pooped I went straight to bed.”

                “That came out yesterday…..? Holy hell, you’re right, yesterday was Sunday!”

                “You watch Game of Thrones?” the fireman asked, excitedly, while checking his email and then starting a Google hunt for an online stream of yesterday’s episode.

                “Hell yeah,” came the cool voice from the kitchen, as the future chef poured salt into the saucepan full of boiling water, about to start cooking the pasta.

                “I even read the first book,” Makoto confessed, proudly, “but I have an attention deficit so I don’t do very well with reading long books like that. Or watching movies. I just can’t focus on one thing for two and a half hours.”

                “High school must’ve been hell for you, man.”

                Makoto nodded, creasing his forehead, “Wouldn’t use any other word to describe it.”

                While Haru waited for the pasta to finish cooking and for the bacon to finish frying, the firefighter and him engaged in a discussion of the fantasy TV show’s plot so far, both voicing their discontent at Oberyn Martell’s death.

                “I mean, you _never_ get bisexual characters on TV! He was such an awesome guy… why did he have to go so soon?” the fireman complained. “ _I wonder if that hint was subtle enough_ ,” he thought to himself.

                “I agree, but life’s a bitch, you know? Especially if you live in Westeros,” Haru mused, stirring the bacon around on the frying pan, talking over the sizzling noise. “Hey – at least Joffrey’s dead, right?”

                “Right. But they’re about to kill Tyrion, too… He’s one of my favourites. Peter Dinklage is such a great actor.”

                “I have faith in him being set free somehow.”

                Finally, the pasta finished boiling – Haru sieved out the water, threw the pasta onto the bacon pan and added the cheese and whisked eggs. A milk carton that Makoto swore hadn’t gone bad yet found its way to the chef’s hands, and he added a few drops in to add a cloudy taste to the eggs. The noodley mess was tossed and turned around the pan for a few minutes, and then Haru split the food into equal portions on two large, plastic plates that Makoto handed him.

                “Now, before we even start eating, I just wanted to thank you a thousand times for making this food for us. I wanted to say it before even tasting it, just so you’ll know for certain that I’m thanking you for the gesture, not just because I find your cooking delicious.”

                Haru’s lips twitched upward and his ears turned a slightly pinkish colour, “It’s fine… But thank you. It was no bother, really. It’s just some simple carbonara.”

                The two of them sat down at the tiny table in the kitchen, but as Haru’s rear descended onto the rickety, wooden stool beneath him, one of the chair legs snapped and the black-haired lad found himself thudding onto the wooden panels on the floor.

                “Jeez, Haru, I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” Makoto rushed over and grabbed his guest’s arm, helping him up.

                “Yeah, I’m fine! That was just a bit of a surprise,” Haru blinked twice, snapped out of it, and ended up laughing quietly about the incident.

                “ _His laugh is like eating toast with honey on a December evening_ …” thought Makoto. Realizing he was still holding onto the chef’s arm, he let it go by pulling away a little too suddenly, ending up surprising Haru and blushing severely.

                “You know what,” the fireman suggested, “how about we just eat this on the couch? We can watch the show while we eat.”

                “That sounds perfect,” Haru agreed, and the two of them sat down on the sofa which also served as Makoto’s bed. Trainee Tachibana pressed play, switched the video mode to fullscreen, and both of them dug into their plates while humming along to the intro in synchronisation.

                They watched the episode intently, often clutching at their heads or screaming “WHAT THE FUCK” at the screen whenever a major plot twist occurred. Just around the moment when Tyrion breaks out of prison, the video suddenly stopped playing.

                “WHAT?!” both of them hollered at the screen in unison.

                “NOT NOW!” Makoto yelled, and tried refreshing the page.

                _A connection could not be established._

                “Seriously?” the firefighter pouted, refreshing the page fifteen times more, and even rebooting the wireless card in his laptop. Unfortunately, nothing helped. He slumped onto the sofa, between Haru and the now-empty plates. He patted his full stomach and turned around to face the chef’s apprentice, “Man, I’ve got to tell you – this was literally the best spaghetti I’ve ever eaten. You’re the best cook in the world. Except my mom, of course.”

                Haru’s mouth made an ‘o’ shape briefly, and he then told his host, “It’s the least I could do to thank you for inviting me over.”

                “Oh, come on, to this run-down craphole? Not even the Internet works around here.” Makoto grumbled. He took the dirty plates back to the kitchen and returned with two glasses of cold Coke, as well as a chessboard he picked up from the big wardrobe on the way. “You like playing chess?”

                “Yeah, I used to be pretty good,” Haru replied with a smirk. Almost instantly, he added, “But there have to be some stakes in this game.”

                “Like what?” Trainee Tachibana asked, taking a sip of Coke, setting his glass down and starting to align all of the wooden pieces on the board which he set up on the space on the couch between them.

                “Like when I win, you have to come over to my apartment this week. Maybe after swimming on Friday?”

                “Okay,” Makoto agreed, grinning widely. “And if I win, you come over to my place again.”

                “Accent on the ‘ _if_ ’,” the chef’s apprentice said with a sly smirk.

                The two of them began their game of chess and it ended up being an incredibly long one. Sometimes they didn’t make any moves for dozens of minutes, because they would get too captivated in the conversations they were having aside from the game. Makoto had set his laptop to shuffle his music library and Haru listened intently, keen to find out more about the fireman’s music taste, while Makoto watched the cook’s reactions to each of the songs that played, wondering whether he liked them.

                At one point, Beyoncé’s song ‘Single Ladies’ played, and Haru started shaking his head violently. “Do _not_ ever play this song at my apartment.”

                “What? Why? You don’t like Beyoncé?”

                “She’s a queen, of course I like her,” Haru raised an eyebrow at Makoto questioningly. “The problem is that I like with Nagisa Hazuki, a full-time idiot who has forced me to dance the choreography to this song with him so many times, I actually know it.”

                “That’s awesome!”

                “ _No,_ it’s _not_ awesome,” the chef’s apprentice grumbled. “You’d see me dancing, and that would be a disaster.”

                “ _If you knew how much I’d give to see you dance to virtually any song, you wouldn’t be talking such garbage, Haruka Nanase,_ ” thought Makoto, studying his guest’s embarrassed face.

                It was nearing 11 PM when the two of them were anywhere near finishing the game. It was clear both of them were very comfortable with each other when they started describing their personal lives to each other. Haru found out that Makoto had been relieved to move to the big city for work – small town life in his hometown was a great retreat on the weekends or for holidays, but everyday life in a place like that can be hell. When the Tachibana boy was in elementary school, he was made fun of for his difficulties with learning and for his attention deficit, which always made him space out in class, have trouble staying on-task and get poorer grades than his classmates. Getting poor grades becomes less of a social issue in middle and high school, but by that point in time, Makoto had other reasons to be bullied. In middle school he was often called “Patch-Boy” or “Fakey” because after Ren and Ran Tachibana were born, the family encountered some serious financial difficulties and Makoto often wore old, patchy clothes to school (hence Patch-Boy) or wore cheap fakes of brand sneakers and t-shirts which the children would also mock him for (hence Fakey). In high school, the Tachibana’s eldest child had only a handful of friends for several reasons – most of the high schoolers in Makoto’s hometown were heavy drinkers and loved partying until they blacked out, while he had promised his parents that he wouldn’t drink until he turned 18 years old. The other fact was that the small-town boy once left a Valentine’s Day card in the locker of another guy. Instead of being civil about it and rejecting Makoto in private, the recipient decided to spread all kinds of rumours about the boy and make him feel like the “miserable queer” he supposedly was.

                Haru, in turn, told Makoto that he never had many social experiences simply because he was in a different school every single year of his life. He explained the situation in his house as he was growing up – a house that couldn’t be called a home because it was more like a war-zone. Haru had been too young to understand many of the issues in real-time as they were happening, but they haunted him even more pervasively once he became old enough to understand concepts like “alcoholism”, “bipolar disorder”, “extramarital sex” and his most despised one of all – “staying together for the kid”. With time, the battlefield in Haru’s house turned into background noise he elected to ignore, and eventually – after the divorce – the teen was left to being dragged from one bomb crater to another, both still hissing at each other with burnt-out rage. Despite his interrupted education, the lad did very well on his exams and had a chance to go study at university – but cooking for himself and his parent (or parents) was something he actually _liked_ doing. Just like being in water. And being alone. At this point, he assumed the only real effect his childhood had on him was his hindered social development. Nagisa, his roommate, was the first person Haru ever had closer contact with. Well – that and Makoto, naturally.

                Makoto had listened to Haruka’s story with moisture shimmering in the corners of his olive-green eyes, a heavy lump sitting at the base of his throat and threatening to emit a loud sob. The very same eyes locked with Haru’s once the latter was done telling his story, and Makoto leaned forward on the couch, his face about a foot away from his guest’s.

                “I just want to tell you that even if you never really experienced what it means to be loved by a family or what it means to be loved by a friend, it doesn’t mean you never will. Because you’re a great person. One of a kind.” Makoto cocked his head just a tiny bit to the right, and with a smile, he added, “I don’t tell my life story to just anyone, you know?”

                 After a second of silence and intent gazing into Makoto Tachibana’s beautiful eyes, the young chef’s apprentice said, “And neither do I.”

                When the two of them looked at the laptop’s clock, they realized it’s definitely time to be wrapping up their chess game and their meeting, seeing as both of them had a morning shift ahead of them the next day. Haruka Nanase felt a thousand kilograms lighter after confessing his experiences to somebody, and it could even be seen in his chess strategies – in four moves, the black-haired boy had the fireman in a check-mate.

                “I win,” Haru said with a small smile, “and you remember what that means?”

                Nodding in agreement, Makoto said, “Yeah, yeah, I’ll visit your place.”

                “Awesome. Thanks for everything today,” he said, and started getting ready to leave, picking his tote bag off the floor where he had left it.

                “No, thank _you_ for making the best pasta in the world. Except my mom’s.”

                “Except your mom’s,” Haru confirmed with a chuckle. Just as he picked up the hemp handles of the bag, and headed towards the door, the chef’s apprentice remembered, “Oh, right! I have that shirt you gave me back in the day with me. You probably need it.”

                “Thanks! It’s no biggie, I have two more just like it. I might let you keep it someday.”

                “Pff, ‘ _might’_ ,” Haru rolled his eyes theatrically. He was half-way out the door and half-way through his goodbyes when the firefighter suddenly hopped out onto the dimly-lit stairwell where Haru was standing and scooped his torso up under the arms into a tight embrace. He rested his brown-haired forehead on the future chef’s shoulder and held him so close to his body, he could hear the pounding in Haru’s chest.

                The smaller one suddenly found himself enveloped in a world where everything was Makoto and nothing hurt. The smell of his deodorant was literally all around him and Haru couldn’t help closing his eyes. The huge shield eventually pried itself off of him, blushing wildly and apologizing several times.

                In response, the only action that came to Haruka Nanase’s mind was to glue himself to Makoto in a shorter, but more direct hug. After squeezing their bodies together for that brief interval, the shorter one pulled away just far enough to be able to see all of Makoto’s face, and whispered, “See you soon.”

                “See you. I’ll miss you,” the tall, messy-haired fireman confessed, his face all red.

                Haru was already two steps down the faux-marble staircase when he turned around and said, “Me too.”

 

* * *

 

 

                Maybe it was a little pathetic that as soon as Trainee Tachibana was back inside his apartment, he locked the door, took off the hoodie he was wearing, tossed it onto an open suitcase full of clothes and trinkets, and changed into the shirt he had just gotten back from Haru. Maybe it was a little pathetic that he stripped, turned the lights off and went straight to sleep on the old sofa, covering himself with a black blanket and hugging the shirt, the smell of Haruka Nanase, close to his face.

                And maybe it was a little pathetic that he was falling asleep with the song “Angels” by The XX played on repeat.

                _Or maybe, just maybe, Makoto Tachibana was slowly falling in love._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hghghhhh this took about 5 ages of Mordor to write haha  
> I hope you guys enjoyed it, regardless.


	7. Day Seven

               The following few days were a mess. Chef Pierre’s aunt, who lived in the French city of Lyon, where Pierre was originally from, died unexpectedly in her sleep someday during the weekend. On Monday morning, when Haru arrived at work, he was immediately thrown off by the sight of his rotund boss standing in front of the Iwatobi Bistro, waiting for his apprentice while wearing an ill-fitting suit instead of the regular apron and chef’s hat, holding out the keys to the restaurant as if it were a relay baton he was passing on to the next runner. Pierre began apologizing for the short notice, but his flight was leaving in little over two hours – he explained the entire situation with the funeral, and Haru quickly shared his condolences, before being burdened with responsibility over the entire bistro until Friday morning, when the chef would be back. Of course, the Frenchman assured Haruka Nanase that his brother-in-law Maël would be arriving shortly to work as Haru’s helper in the kitchen, so the poor boy wouldn’t have to deal with everything by himself.

                Obviously, this meant that Haru was doomed to a solitary week, because Maël – if he showed up at all, the sloth – was about as keen to peel potatoes as he was to wash his greasy hair. Not to mention the fact that if, by some heavenly miracle, the man decided to actually do some work, he was more likely to set off the fire alarm by burning water on the stove than he was likely to actually be useful. In other words, a bomb had been dropped on the young, raven black-haired cook, and he was stuck with dealing with its radioactive fallout on his own. From receiving the fresh grocery supplies from the truck that came from the farmer’s market and taking stock of the inventory, to placing new orders for produce, to taking customers’ orders and completing them, the youth had his hands full – quite literally, too, as he was both waiting tables and cooking the meals.

                Even some of the regulars were shocked at Pierre’s absence and the fact that Haru was working a murderous double shift – alone. When Officer Matsuoka came by in the morning to buy his espresso and donut, and learned that the chef’s apprentice was bustling among the tables like a lone bee in a hive, he began listing all the illegalities connected to the Pierre’s unscheduled leave and Haru’s ungodly overtime. The cook obviously appreciated his concern, but insisted the policeman take no further action – except the series of overly-affectionate pats on the back that the young man received, which seemed inevitable, no matter how hard Haru tried to inch away.

                Once the dishwasher finished its final cycle of the day and the chef’s apprentice said farewell to the last customer, Haruka Nanase was barely keeping his eyes open as he slipped off his cooking apron back on the hangers around the back of the bistro. Powerlessly, the youth made sure that all the lights and machinery was turned off and ready for him to come in the following day. He shut the blinds and locked all the latches in the front, only to exit through the back door and arm the security system by punching in a four-digit code into an old, 1980s keypad. Despite having nothing but a tote bag on his shoulder, his feet dragged on down the dark, cobbled alley as if the cook was wearing full medieval body armour.

                The apartment he shared with Nagisa suddenly seemed to be on the other side of town, and the trip back home took Haru 20 minutes, double his average time. After nearly falling asleep in the rusty, old elevator, he stumbled in through the flat’s door, dropped the canvas bag in the hallway and pressed his forehead against a wall with a loud sigh.

                Nagisa emerged from his room excitedly, but halted in his tracks as soon as he saw Haru facing a wall and barely standing up straight. “Uh, Haru…? You okay? You look like you’ve just been fucked by every single member of the Australian national rugby team. Twice.”

                 “That was specific,” Haru mumbled under his breath, and after a while he straightened his back and started nodding slowly, “yeah, Nagisa, I’m okay. Thanks. I just… Pierre kind of disappeared unexpectedly and left the whole Bistro to me. So I have to take care of everything myself for twelve whole hours, every single day, until he gets back. And I’m not even sure when that’s going to be.”

                 “Dude…” Nagisa frowned and swooped in to hug his roommate, “That sounds like murder. But hey! I bought an extra salami sub today, wanna have that for supper?”

                 “Yes. I’m starving. Thank you. I don’t think I’d be able to make anything for myself, I’m so exhausted,” Haru huffed.

                The short, blond college student smiled widely and waved his hand towards the open door labelled _N.H._ “Go sit down in my room for a sec. I have an idea.”

                On any average day Nagisa Hazuki saying the words “I have an idea” would’ve made Haru unspeakably suspicious, since his roommate’s ideas were often life-threatening. But on that Monday the young chef’s apprentice was too tired to keep his guard up and he lazily slumped onto Nagisa’s single, Spiderman-blanket-covered bed and made himself comfortable, listening to the beeping noises of the college student operating the microwave in the kitchen. About a minute later, in came the short blondie, carrying a plate with a large salami melt in one hand and a glass of orange juice in the other.

                 “Bon appetit, Chef Nanase!” he said with a smile and approached Haru, who propped himself up on the bed, received the plate and dug into his meal, wolfing down the foot-long sandwich. The exhausted cook wasn’t paying much attention to the roomie, being so preoccupied with eating, so he was truly surprised when he looked up after chugging the glass of orange juice and saw Nagisa crouching in the middle of the room, packing weed into the bowl of his large, glass bong.

                 “What the hell are you doing?” Haru groaned.

                The aeronautics student picked up the heavy apparatus and set it down on the bed next to the cook, handing him a lighter, “Look, man, I know you have trouble falling asleep, even when you’re tired. So I figured we’d find an organic solution to your medical condition. _The herb heals, man_.”

                Haruka Nanase grimaced, playing with the small, plastic BIC lighter, “Since when are you some Rastafarian wannabe?”

                 “I wanted to get baked tonight anyways. Some stoner girl in my class is getting drug tested tomorrow and she was selling her whole stash for a quarter of its worth. I’m a man of business, Haru! Now come on, light up.”

                The chef’s apprentice rolled his cool, blue eyes, exhaled, and pressed his lips to the mouthpiece. With a stroke of his thumb the flint-wheel of the lighter clicked and a flame whooshed to life in the room; he navigated it cautiously to set the crushed weed ablaze and watched the glass chamber fill up with smoke as he sucked in air lightly, bubbles escaping the percolator. Finally, once the chamber was no longer see-through, he removed his finger from the carburettor and breathed in deeply, the smoke dissipating into his lungs. He held it in as long as he could, but eventually gave in to a whooping cough, passing the bong back to Nagisa as his body convulsed with coughs. The roommate laughed as he seized his bong back and took a hit himself. Once his own lungs were full of smoke, Nagisa handed the glass pipe back to Haru and stood up slowly, moving towards his renovated, mahogany vinyl player that he scavenged from a scrapyard.

                 “What?” Haru murmured in confusion with half-open eyes, “Another?”

                Nagisa giggled, “Yeah, man, help yourself,” as he flipped through the colourful, cardboard 12-inch album covers in his collection, only to stop at The Beatles’ _Rubber Soul_. Soon enough, the fuzzy noise of a vinyl player’s needle pressing onto the black disc broke the silence, and the distorted guitar riffs of the album’s first song, _Drive My Car_ , filled the room.

                Haru held his second hit in without coughing like a maniac and Nagisa expressed his pride for the non-smoking roommate. Soon enough, the once-packed bowl was full of ashes, and the future aeronautics engineer set the bong in a corner of his room. When he looked back around, Haru was flying flat on his bed, his mop of black hair burrowed into Nagisa’s Spiderman blanket.

                 “Sleepy?” the blond one asked, laughing.

                 “Mmmm,” Haru mumbled into the bed.

                 “Alright, look. What time do you wake up for work?”

                 “Seven thirty…”

                The crafty young college student pulled Haru’s phone out of the back pocket of the work trousers he was still wearing, unlocked the screen and, maximizing whatever the weed had left of his ability to focus, he turned on the alarm clock function for 7:30 the next morning. He left the phone next to Haru’s head, turned the gramophone’s volume down to near the minimum, grabbed his laptop, turned off the lights in the room, and crept off to eat Cheetos and play League of Legends in the kitchen.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

                When Haru woke up the following morning, he was shocked at how good he felt. His usually-unbelievably-irritating alarm clock sounded like birdsong and the only thing that needed fixing was the stickiness of his skin, but that would be solved by his morning shower. It did obviously surprise him to wake up in a room that wasn’t his own, but he remembered immediately thereafter that he had fallen asleep so quickly in Nagisa’s bed, there was no hope for moving him into his own room.

                After his quick shower, the cook – wrapped in a red towel toga – entered his own room quietly, careful not to wake up Nagisa who was sprawled out on Haru’s bed, his laptop still open on the pillow next to his face, and the Skype conversation window with Rei still up on the dimmed screen. Skilfully and virtually silently, Haruka opened the drawers of his minimalistic dresser and pulled out a pair of slim, black trousers that he wore to work, as well as one of his many neatly-folded white shirts.

                Dressed to impress, the young man headed to the kitchen and made himself breakfast – a meal he usually ate at the Bistro, but the extra bit of time on this particular Tuesday morning was just enough to scramble two eggs, fry a ready-made cordon bleu, and drink a glass of orange juice. Once finished, he quickly washed his plate and pan, set them out to dry, put on his bistre brown penny loafers, locked the apartment door behind him, and took off for work.

                The chef’s apprentice decided that his body must’ve simply been overworked, undernourished and sleep-deprived, because with the extra hours of snooze that Nagisa gifted him with, the day was a lot more bearable. Even Officer Matsuoka commented on Haru’s unusual chirpiness while drinking his espresso. Even the ancient radio that sat on one of the metallic counters at the back of the Bistro seemed to be playing more of Haru’s favourites than usual. Customer after customer, dishwasher load after dishwasher load, coffee after coffee and meal after meal, the minutes on the old cuckoo clock ticked by, the sun making its way around the sky and casting increasingly orange shades onto the Bistro’s long windows.

                When it happened, it was just past 6 PM and Haru was thinking about Sunday evening’s hug with Makoto, absent-mindedly humming the melody of _Living On A Prayer_ by Bon Jovi, pulling a hot croissant out of the oven, onto a plate, and pouring chocolate sauce on it. The black-haired chef’s apprentice handed the food to an elderly lady who had ordered it, wished her “bon appétit”, and looked up at the next customer.

                 “Good afternoon, Haru,” said the sweetest, deep voice that the Bistro’s cook had ever heard, as he found himself trapped within a pair of eyes that glistened with the setting sun’s light, and a wide, friendly smile that could probably melt permafrost if it wanted to. His stomach did a complete flip-turn and his mouth went completely dry, the handsome firefighter standing right in front of him, dressed in a pair of basketball shorts and a white ACDC t-shirt. Haru studied him intently for a second and noticed there was soot or white paint on his hazel-brown hair.

                 “ _What the hell, I was just thinking about you._ ”

                Snapping out of what felt like a dream, the cook stuttered, “M-Makoto! I… uh, I guess I didn’t expect to see you here today. You caught me off-guard.”

                “Sorry about that,” he rubbed the back of his neck, slightly abashed. “I was actually going to pay you a visit yesterday, but the Chief has approved of my renovation, so I literally spent all the hours of daylight scraping the old wallpaper off the walls of my studio.”

                “It’s fine! I wouldn’t have been much company yesterday, anyways. Pierre left for Europe because his aunt died, and left the whole Bistro to me, myself and I. It was hectic as hell, but I’m managing with everything today.”

                “Wow!” Makoto didn’t seem to be faking his amazement. “If Chief left the entire fire station to me, I think I’d be crushed by responsibilities.”

                “Yeah, but a fire brigade saves lives. I’m just making food,” Haru waved his hand dismissively. “Speaking of which, have you eaten? Would you like something?”

                “The wallpaper-removing actually forced me to hide every single thing that I own within a cupboard or suitcase, so most of my things are currently stacked in the bathroom. No food at home. I bought scrambled eggs at a milk bar on my way to the hardware store in the morning, but I haven’t really eaten since… I’d love anything, really.”

                Haru swerved around, a sense of duty flowing over him. “ _I’ve gotta save my handsome firefighter’s empty stomach._ ” He pulled out a bowl and filled it with ladles of Tuesday’s Lunch Of The Day, a delicious shrimp and mackerel soup. Putting the steaming hot bowl and a spoon on a waiter’s tray, he beckoned for Makoto to take a seat at one of the Bistro’s tables, and he set the meal in front of the hungry fireman.

                “Haru, thank you!”

                “Don’t mention it. And hey… do you like burgers?”

                “Hell yeah!” Makoto replied slightly over-enthusiastically, the silver spoon he was cluthing nearly slipping out of his hand. “I mean, yes. I do.”

                “Alright, then. That will be a quarter pounder, coming right up.”

                After Haru moulded the ground beef into two patties and set them up to fry, he returned to the Bistro to serve a customer who had just arrived. While preparing the teenage girl’s cappuccino, the cook couldn’t help but sneak glances at Makoto from behind the industrial coffee maker. The firefighter was propping the bowl of soup up, closer to his mouth, trying to prevent another incident after having accidentally spilled some shrimp soup over his chin. Haru chuckled to himself at Trainee Tachibana’s momentary clumsiness, composed himself, and handed the girl her coffee to go.

                The chef’s apprentice went into the back of the Bistro to flip the nicely-browned burger patties onto the other side and to regulate the fryer’s temperature. He then returned up front, exited from around the counter, and approached Makoto, only to slide onto the wooden bench opposite of the fireman.

                “Did you know I had scrambled eggs for breakfast, too?” he asked.

                “Huh. What a coincidence,” Makoto blushed lightly and rubbed his chin pensively. He then snapped out of his thoughts. “Jeez, where are my manners? Haru – this soup was amazing!”

                “You’re just saying that because you were hungry,” Haru’s lips jerked upwards playfully.

                Makoto groaned, “No, I really do think that! I love shrimp.”

                “Well, it’s Chef Pierre’s recipe, I just add the mackerel when I make it, out of personal preference.”

                “Big fan?” the fireman asked, curiously.

                “Oh, yeah. I love most fish, actually.” Haru explained.

                “I’ll remember that,” Makoto said, his eyelids drooping slightly as a smile spread slowly across his entire face, spreading from ear to ear.

                The chef’s apprentice stood back up – totally not trying to hide his blushing cheeks after Makoto’s beautiful smile – and took his guest’s empty bowl and spoon back to the counter, to set them inside the dishwasher. A tell-tale smell reached the cook’s experienced nostrils, too, and the young man used a metal turner to pull the burger patties out of the fryer and pat off the oil with paper towels. A squirt of Iwatobi-made special sauce, two slices of cheese, a slice of onion and a bit of pickle later, an incredible, steaming hot double-decker quarter pounder was making its way through the Bistro, carried by Haruka Nanase on a plate.

                Makoto quite literally gasped when he saw the food approaching him, as burgers were one of his biggest weaknesses, and there it was – a mouth-watering quarter pounder prepared _especially_ for him by this… mouth-watering guy. Trainee Tachibana was confused as to whether he should be staring at the delicious dish or at the beautiful chef, walking through the Bistro with the plate professionally held up high. The fireman found himself unable to look away from the azure eyes, regardless of how distracting the smell of the fresh beef was – and his gaze lingered on Haru’s beautiful face, Makoto’s mind suddenly blank.

                “Enjoy,” the cook said in his cool voice, finally making the firefighter come back to his senses.

                “Th-thank you,” he stuttered, raising the burger to his face in a desperate attempt to hide his very obviously pink cheeks.

                One bite into the quarter pounder Makoto Tachibana already knew that marrying Haruka Nanase would be like entering the gates of his very own paradise, as long as they could have burgers like this one for dinner at least once a month or so. The sauce had the perfect consistency, the meat was fried ideally, and even the amount of pickles and onion was something Burger King employees could learn from.

                Once the busy chef returned to sitting across from Makoto after serving a newly-arrived customer, the firefighter mumbled with a bit of the burger still in his mouth, “Haru, did I ever mention your cooking is amazing?”

                It wasn’t a common sight, yet there it was – Haruka smiled, his entire face lighting up from the compliment. “Thank you.”

                After chewing another bite, the fireman added, jokingly, “This is so tasty. Seriously, how are you single?”

                Haru arced a black eyebrow, “Who says I am?”

                The quarter pounder froze in mid-air, half-way between the plate and Makoto’s lips as they turned into a shocked frown. Even his brown brows pulled together in an expression of anguish, which the firefighter had just felt, in all fairness; his stomach sunk, his mouth went dry instantly, and a lump appeared at the back of his throat. The words came out small and quiet as he choked out a “O-oh, I didn’t know.”

                The cook certainly hadn’t anticipated such an emotional response; immediately, Haru laughed heartily, a sound that Makoto had never heard him make before, and he quickly explained, “I was joking, silly. You think I wouldn’t have told you something like that by now?”

                The pain faded away from Makoto’s face and the colour returned to his cheeks. “ _What a fucking relief_ ,” the fireman thought to himself, and added, with flushed cheeks, “I’m sorry for taking that so seriously…”

                “No, don’t be,” Haru shook his head, still smiling, “it was actually kind of….. _cute_.”

                And thus, a man who fought fires and saved people for a living was blushing because some fish-loving bastard in a white apron had used the word “cute” to describe him.

                 “ _What on earth is happening to me,_ ” thought Makoto Tachibana, angry with himself, as he ate the last bite of the large burger and wiped his hands on a paper towel he pulled out of a wooden napkin holder.

                 “Thanks for the food, Haru. All of it was amazing,” Makoto pat his satisfied stomach with a smile gracing his face.

                 “You’re more than welcome. Cool shirt, by the way,” Haru noticed, waving his index finger in the direction of the firefighter’s chiselled torso.

                 “Huh? O-oh, this? No, don’t say that, I’m wearing my worst shorts and shirt today. All my good clothes are packed up not to get dirty, so I’m wearing my work rags…” Makoto explained, suddenly extremely self-conscious and embarrassed to be seen wearing his plaster-stained shirt in front of someone as perpetually well-dressed and good-looking as Haru. “Is it dirty?” Makoto asked, staring himself down, searching for dirt on the white t-shirt.

                 “No, it’s fine, relax,” Haru assured him. After a moment’s hesitation, however, the cook leaned across the table, his face a foot away from Makoto’s, and reached out with his hand to touch the firefighter’s hair, brushing the particles of white dust and plaster off the hazel-brown, messy mane.

                It was mesmerizing for Trainee Tachibana to watch the intent focus of Haru’s icy blue eyes and to feel his hand softly touching his hair. Their heads were so close together, the fireman could see every detail of Haruka’s face, from the slight wrinkles above the bridge of his nose and on his forehead, to the perfect arc of his raven-black eyebrows, and even the pink creases of his narrow lips. Even after Haru retracted his hand and stood up to serve bagels and salads to a newly-arrived group of businessmen on their way home from work, it took Makoto a while to recover to normal, as well as settle down his heartbeat.

                Once Haru gave the receipt to the last person within the group of customers, Makoto stood up and approached the counter, his plate and used napkin in outstretched hands.

                 “Don’t you dare say this was on the house,” Makoto interrupted Haru just as the black-haired guy on the other side of the counter opened his mouth. “How much is the burger?”

                 “Oh, come on…” the cook sighed dramatically. “There’s no need…”

                 “Please, I’d feel terrible. You put in time and effort to make this thing especially for me.”

                 “The burger costs five-ninety, and the soup of the day always costs three.”

                 “Great,” the firefighter said, and began pulling out a banknote and coins out of his pocket.

                 “I feel awful asking you for money,” Haru complained as the change slid across the wooden surface towards him and he picked it up, stuffing it into the cash register.  

                Makoto hesitated, blushed, and then blurted out, “And I feel awful asking you for your phone number.”

                Haruka Nanase froze because he wasn’t quite sure he heard that last sentence right. Did Makoto just ask… for his _phone number_? The young man’s jaw dropped and hiding the colour of his cheeks proved absolutely impossible.

                 “Y-yeah, um, it’s… let me write it down for you…” he said, his voice suddenly small and quiet, and looked under the counter for a pen. Once the blue BIC ballpoint found its way to his hand, Makoto stretched out his hand with a shy smile, and Haru found his breath hastening as he held the fireman’s hand and wrote down the digits of his phone number while using the moment to feel the coarse surface of Trainee Tachibana’s skin, hardened by intensive physical training and handling firefighting equipment.

                 “Th-thanks,” said Makoto as Haru retracted his hands, and then added, “listen, I don’t actually know whether I’ll be able to visit you tomorrow or the day after that. The Chief gave me the next few days of the week off as a paid leave to get that flat renovation done. But I’ll have to be back at the station on Friday. You know, I finished tearing down the old wallpaper yesterday and today I was plastering all the walls and ceiling. But I’ve still got all the wall-painting to do, which is why I’m worried I won’t have a while to pop in here…”

                 “It’s… It’s fine, of course! I mean, I’d be really happy to have you here, but I understand that you’re busy. And hey – on Friday you’re coming over to my flat, remember?”

                 “Of course I remember. How about we do that after we go swimming?”

                 “Sure. Fridays are my day off, so I could pick you up at the station?”

                 “Perfect. I’ll be free around 6 PM, if that’s okay?”

                 “Hmph,” Haru scoffed theatrically, “it’s a bit late…”

                 “You’ll have enough of me by the time we’re at the swimming pool, anyways,” Makoto laughed.

                 “ _Somehow I highly doubt that,_ ” thought the cook to himself, but smiled at the fireman’s joke anyways.

                Trainee Tachibana looked at the chef’s apprentice intently, his gaze lingering and getting lost somewhere in the cool blue of Haruka’s eyes. With a supressed, sad sigh, he said, “I don’t want to be keeping you from work, so… I guess I’ll be on my way. And now that I have this – ” he pointed to the nine hand-written digits on his left palm excitedly, “I’ll text you!”

                 “I’ll be waiting,” Haru said, “ _very impatiently,_ ” he added in his mind.

                With a heart-melting and gut-churning smile, Makoto Tachibana did a goofy salute with his inscribed hand and strutted out of the Bistro, attracting the attention of the group of businessmen who were munching on their Greek salads and discussing sales reports.

                 “ _What a dork,_ ” Haru huffed, his cheeks still rather red.

 

 

                When he was out on the street, out of the Iwatobi Bistro’s view, Trainee Tachibana balled both of his palms into fists, threw them up into the air and yelled, “YES!” in the middle of the street, people turning their heads and staring at him in surprise. But he wouldn’t care, nor would he have a single care in the world for the remainder of the day. After all, he had just gotten his crush’s phone number.

                _Today was a good day._

_  
_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi people! I'm so sorry that I've been so shitty at updating this. Had a bunch of personal problems. Hope this will be worth the wait!


End file.
